


The 'Flu

by elizajane



Series: 25 Ways to Kiss a Naked Man [13]
Category: Eureka
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Influenza, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/pseuds/elizajane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You,” Jack informs Nathan, “are absolute crap at being sick.” [Jack POV]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 'Flu

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of fluff for 'flu season. If that's not a contradiction in terms.

“You,” Jack informs Nathan, “are absolute _crap_ at being sick.”

Starting with the fact that Nathan had been in bed with the flu for a full day before Jack knew about it – and then only because Allison had phoned him up and asked if he knew that she'd sent Nathan home from work a day and a half ago because he was running a fever.

He drops the grocery bag on the counter before going over to the couch where Nathan's slumped with a stack of reports at his elbow and checking his forehead. He’s still running hot, but has two shirts and one of Jack's hoodies on despite that, and a blanket over his knees.

Uh-huh. _Completely_ incompetent as an invalid.

“I think this might be what Zoe refers to as 'epic,' even,” he continues, returning to the kitchen and digging out the orange juice and vitamin C packets. “And this is me talking, the one whose wife divorced him ostensibly for being a workaholic?”

Nathan is trying to ignore him, but Jack can tell that the fever is making it difficult for his eyes to focus, and it's clear that despite the fact he's been home for thirty-six hours at this point the “to read” pile is still substantially higher than the “finished” pile.

“Did you just not think to call me, or were you relying on Allison to do what she always does and patch us through when we've dropped the signal?” Somewhere in here – ah, there – is the economy size box of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

“Fuck you,” Nathan remarks, without rancor.

“As often as you like,” Jack concedes, “but not until you've stopped shivering while running a temperature of a hundred and two.”

“101.3” Nathan corrects him. “I checked an hour ago.”

“101.3 then. I'm not fucking you until you're back down to ninety-eight, or whateverthehell normal is.”

“Gnuh.” Nathan protests, in a tone of voice Jack likes to think he personally hasn't used since he turned twenty-one.

“ _Meanwhile_ ,” Jack continues, overriding all protest, “we're going to do what sensible, normal, people do when they have the flu and watch _Starsky and Hutch_ while drinking orange juice and eating mac and cheese.” He shakes the box of dry pasta for emphasis.

Nathan moans.

Jack mixes him a glass of OJ and vitamin C first, handing it over the back of the couch and waiting silently until Nathan relents and takes it from his grasp with a suspicious glare.

“You realize that vitamin C has absolutely no proven effect on influenza?”

“It’s good for immunity.”

“Hypothetically.”

“Hey, I drink it, I feel better. What more do you need?”

“Did they not teach you about the placebo effect in sheriff school?”

“Glynco. And before that Ohio State. As you know.” Jack folds his arms and waits. Nathan sucks down the orange liquid, makes a face, and hands the glass back before wiping his mouth on the sleeve of Jack’s sweatshirt.

“Did you even bother to take a shower this morning?”

Nathan lets his head drop back against the arm of the couch: “Too. Much. Effort. Fuck. Every bone in my body aches.”

“It’s called _having the 'flu_.” Jack reiterates, not without affection. “You’re acting like you’ve never gotten sick before.”

“I haven’t,” Nathan says. “Ask Allison. No sick days in ten years at Global Dynamics. Not. One.”

“That tells me you refused to take time off, it doesn’t tell me you were never sick. Should I call Allison and ask her to clear access to your medical history?”

“Classified.”

“I bet she’d make an exception.” He tries to glare in a threatening manner, but knows the effect is lacking. “Look -- how about I run you a bath and make lunch while you soak off that film of crud you’ve accumulated. And then you can doze on my lap while I watch Paul Glaser and David Soul flirt shamelessly and save the world.”

He doesn’t wait for assent, just takes the steep steps to the second floor two at a time and sets the water running in the bathtub. By the time the tub is half full, Nathan appears in the door of his (their, really) bedroom, where Jack is rummaging through the piles of clean clothes looking for something suitable for an afternoon on the couch rather than behind his desk.

“Macaroni and cheese. _Really_?” Nathan asks, by way of an opening volley.

“It’s traditional,” Jack mumbles into the back of the closet.

“Ah.” When Jack emerges, Nathan is standing slumped against the doorframe, eyes closed.

“My head hurts,” he admits, when Jack touches him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, I bet, Mr. 101.3.”

“100.8. I checked before coming up here.”

“Yeah, well, still not good enough. So let’s get you into that bath and you can soak the germs away.”

“Orthomyxoviridae are a virus.” Nathan gets pedantic when he’s crabby. Well, actually, Jack reflects, Nathan is pretty much always pedantic -- he’s just better at tamping it down when he body isn’t busy fighting infection.

“Well, virus then,” he concedes, guiding Nathan over to the bathroom where the tub is nearly full of lukewarm water and some of those sandalwood and cedar bath salts that Jo and Zoe had brought back as a present from their trip to Portland over Columbus Day weekend.

He helps Nathan out of his sweatshirts, layered tees -- all dank with sweat -- sweatpants and socks, dropping them all out of the way to be bundled into the laundry hamper. Nathan lets Jack man-handle him, dropping his forehead onto Jack’s shoulder, a heavy, weary, weight.

“Hurts,” he says again.

“I know,” Jack rubs his hand in circles against the tight knot of muscle between Nathan’s shoulder blades. “You’re gonna feel better, I promise.”

Nathan sighs. “I _hate_ being sick. Feel so _useless_.”

“Hey, Allison wouldn’t have sent you home if she needed you.” Jack nudges Nathan toward the bath, helps him step into the water and sink down under the foam. It’s a good thing he’s had his flu shot, he thinks -- otherwise he wouldn’t have a chance in hell of escaping this. Of course, he probably won’t anyway -- but it’s nice to dream.

He smooths Nathan’s hair back from his forehead, plants a kiss on his temple. “You good?”

Nathan lets his head loll back against the high porcelain back of the claw-foot tub. “You said I could fall asleep on your lap while you watched your gay cops?”

“You can fall asleep on my lap while I watch my gay cops, yes.”

Nathan squeezes Jack’s hand, then lets his arm drop into the water. “Then I’m good.”

**Author's Note:**

> My wife Crowgirl has demanded a porny sequel/outtake companion piece to this one, so one of the 25 installments to this series has been set aside to be just that. 
> 
> Turns out I have tendonitis not carpal tunnel -- so yay? But I'm still trying to be mindful about how much not-for-work typing I do. Hence the slow pace of updates. I'm going to aim for at least one per month for awhile.
> 
> Can you believe this series has hit the halfway point? I can't. o_O


End file.
